Should I let the dream die?

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I watched a movie with my daughter, and the whole time I watched it, I wondered about a dream.

The dream to live in the country.

The setting of the movie was rural Wyoming, trees towering to touch a bluer than blue sky. A farm with a cow, and a passel of cats. The smell of earth. Quiet moments with the stars.

Land to call your own.

I know it’s idyllic, but I’m prone to idealizing that which I don’t have. The reality of the country is much grittier and stressful than what I romanticize it to be. Still, I dream.

I dream of owning a few acres, gardening and canning, trying our hand at wine-making and vineyarding. Creating cheese. Raising chickens. Living in a sustainable way with a windmill or some solar panels. Not too far away from the hustle and bustle, but far enough away to hear coyotes, see the stars on a dark, dark sky.

I guess deep down I’m a farmwoman. Living in the suburbs.

And yet, here I am, gardening my small plot of earth, still struggling to maintain that. Oh the reality of life!

I wonder if this dream is God-breathed or Mary-breathed. I wonder. But something in me aches for the quiet, the simplicity, the beauty. The ache won’t leave.

So I slip onto my knees and wonder if I should let this dream die. Or settle. Or slowly burn inside me. God knows. He knows so well.

Today, I can rest there.

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